There was no doubt about it. The method of living of which we used to be so proud, for which I still felt a deep longing, was abominably expensive. Much smaller amounts, wisely administered, produced better living, and for the life of me I could not discover the cackling herds of people I had been led to expect when such "Utopian schemes" used to be discussed in my youth. From the broad, shady avenues of this quiet place we looked over green hedges or wire fences thick with honeysuckle and rose, into pleasant homelike gardens where families sat on broad piazzas, swung in hammocks, played tennis, ball, croquet, tetherball and badminton, just as families used to. Groups of young girls or young men--or both--strolled under the trees and disported themselves altogether as I remembered them to have done, and happy children frolicked about in the houses and gardens, all the more happily, it would appear, because they had their own place for part of the day. We had seen the fathers come home in time for the noon meal. In the afternoon most of the parents seemed to think it the finest thing in the world to watch their children learning or playing together, in that amazing Garden of theirs, or to bring them home for more individual companionship. As a matter of fact, I had never seen, in any group of homes that I could recall, so much time given to children by so many parents--unless on a Sunday in the suburbs. I was very silent on the way back, revolving these things in my mind. Point by point it seemed so vividly successful, so plainly advantageous, so undeniably enjoyed by those who lived there; and yet the old objections surged up continually. The "noisy crowd all herding together to eat!"--I remembered Mr. Masson's quiet dining-room--they all had dining-rooms, it appeared. The "dreadful separation of children from their parents!" I thought of all those parents watching with intelligent interest their children's guarded play, or enjoying their companionship at home. The "forced jumble with disagreeable neighbors!" I recalled those sheltered quiet grounds; each house with its trees and lawn, its garden and its outdoor games. It was against all my habits, principles, convictions, theories, and sentiments; but there it was, and they seemed to like it. Also, Owen assured me, it paid. CHAPTER VIII After all, it takes time for a great change in world-thought to strike in. That's what Owen insisted on calling it. He maintained that the amazing uprush of these thirty years was really due to the wholesale acceptance and application of the idea of evolution.